He lifts his Coke can to his mouth. The big lump in his throat moves up and down as he swallows. ‘Ahh, good,’ he says. Then he bolts up straight. ‘What day is it?’
The day after Rachel’s party, Bree-Anna thinks to herself. Three days until Christmas.
‘What day is it?’ He grabs her arm, lifts her off the floor, and squeezes it tight. Bree-Anna squeals. She shakes her head.
He drops her and walks to the door and back again. ‘It was Sunday you came to visit. The shops were closed. So, it was Sunday. That was yesterday?’ He waits for her to answer. ‘That was yesterday?’ he yells.
She nods.
He paces back to the door and turns to face her. ‘Today is Monday. f**k it. Tomorrow is Tuesday.’
He bites his bottom lip.
‘We got to call your mother,’ he says, his eyes big and wide.
Bree-Anna leap
